


Tenacious; or how Altair wooed the mechanic who hated him

by Cards_Slash



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mechanics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3552170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/pseuds/Cards_Slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malik was just your average unattractive mechanic working in your average sort of town, not looking for any sort of trouble.  Then Altair happened.  And just keeps coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There were two universal truths of Malik’s life:

1\. That he simply could not wash off the smell of engine grease no matter how hard he tried or what brand of soap he used. Regardless of the endless litany of advice he’d found on the internet on the subject, the smell of the garage followed him everywhere he went.  
2\. He was attractive to nobody, at all. Ever. (Possibly because he smelled like the dirty floor of the garage. Possibly for some other reason like what his brother referred to has his ‘resting face of casual rage’.)

He had lived a monk-like life alternating from working at the garage to going home and trying to scrub himself clean to occasionally going out looking for something to do and despite a troubling addiction to karaoke places, he gained nothing for his efforts. As such, Malik had simply accepted that internet porn and masturbation were his only sexual outlets and moved on with his life accordingly.

\--

It was a Wednesday, during a hell of a rainstorm, when the little gray Honda found its way to the garage. The tow truck dropped it and its owner off without any fanfare. Malik watched from the relative safety of the space behind the counter where he’d been enjoying his lunch. The car was disabled (obviously) and from the spray of mud all along the sides of it, however it had died had been spectacular. 

The owner was almost as bad off as the car. He was kind of tall (at least as tall as Malik) with a slim but obviously muscled body. (Only obvious because he was wearing a white shirt that was soaked with water and therefore showing off both the fantastic color of his skin and the deliciously well-toned muscles of his chest and belly.) There was mud all over his shoes, his pants and his back (apparently he fell) but it had already washed out of his hair. His nose was pink and his ears were red on the tips when he stopped at the counter. “Tow truck guy said you were the closest and best mechanic,” the stranger said.

Malik couldn’t swear that he’d necessarily done anything to earn the title of ‘best’ but he was probably the closest. He dusted his fingers off and stood up. The ancient chair he’d been sitting on squealed angrily at the abuse as he pulled a sheet of paper out for the man to fill out his info on. “What happened?” he asked.

“Car died. On the interstate. I have no idea why. But here I am. Wherever this is.” To add insult to the awfulness of this stranger’s day, the first two pens he picked up didn’t work. The increasing aggravation in his face finally broke with a ridiculous laugh. “I hate today,” he said. “Any chance you have one that works back there?”

Malik dug out one of Kadar’s good pens and gave it to him. “So you’re not from around here?”

“No. I am not. I’m actually on my way to New Ghent but as you can see,” he motioned back out the windows that provided a wonderful view of the slowly flooding streets. “I did not make it. What time is it?”

Malik looked at his phone sitting on the counter, “one-twenty-four.”

The stranger, Altair (or going by the contact information he gave at the top of the paper) let out a huff of noise that was almost a growl when he realized that his wet hand was leaving smears all over the paper. He dropped the pen and slapped his hand against the counter top. His face (pink-edged nose and all) was a comical mask of infuriation. “Do you have another paper?” he asked after a moment of utter silence.

“I’ll write it,” Malik said. “Do you have other clothes? We’ve got a bathroom—it’s tiny but you can use it, if you want to change.” He pulled a second paper out, took Kadar’s pen back and turned the paper Altair had already written on to copy down the information that was legible enough to read. 

“Yeah,” Altair said. “I’m going to go get my clothes and I’ll be back.”

“Get me your license plate number,” Malik said. 

\--

Altair returned (wetter than when we left) carrying a bag against his chest with his body hunched forward in an attempt to protect the bag and its contents. He paused by the door dripping water all over the welcome mat with a persistent shiver. “I got the number,” he said.

“Tell me,” Malik said. He scribbled it down in between bites of his sandwich.

The door to the shop opened behind him and the intentionally obnoxious music rushed through the door followed closely by his equally obnoxious brother. Kadar stole one of his chips and picked up Malik’s cup to take a drink while grinning at him. He smelled like motor oil and sweat and there was a fresh smear of something dark and grimy looking down his bristle-covered cheek. 

“I didn’t get a lunch,” Kadar said in his own defense. He rubbed his hand with the red shop towel and managed to do basically nothing but smear the grime around even further. Satisfied at this attempt at cleanliness, he yanked the zipper of his coveralls down far enough to shake the sleeves off his arms. “Oh hi,” he said when he finally saw Altair still standing by the door. “Looks like you’ve been having a great day.”

“The best,” Altair said. 

“Don’t worry about the carpet. It’s ancient.” Kadar plucked the paper away from Malik and frowned at the word ‘Honda’ before immediately giving it back to him. “Looks like you’ve got this one.”

Altair crossed the carpet clutching his bag against his chest and after a brief tussle with the bathroom door managed to open it. Whether or not he could successfully wedge himself inside still remained to be seen. He stopped long enough to remember he needed to give up his car keys. “Sorry,” he said when he dropped the dripping wet key on the counter. 

When he was in the bathroom, Kadar stood next to him grinning. “He seems _nice_.”

“Stop,” Malik said. “Not every man that walks in is a potential sexual partner. Stop now.”

Kadar’s smile only got rounder and the smugness in his cheeks only more pronounced. “Henceforth, every man that enters here will be considered gay until proven straight. I will not cease my mission until I have found you someone willing to sleep with you.” 

Malik kicked Kadar in the shin and that made him laugh all the way back out to his obnoxious music and his endless row of oil changes.

\--

As it turned out, _everything_ was wrong with the ugly little Honda. Malik, quite frankly, had absolutely no idea how Altair had managed to even get this car onto a road much less make it whatever distance he had on the high way before losing control of it. The poor thing needed to be mercifully put to sleep. He pulled the shop rag out of the back pocket of his overalls and stared into the abyss of failure.

Kadar was shimmying out of his coveralls and throwing them over the desk that was against the fall wall. The fruit smell of the hand cleaner he said worked best was floating all through the garage, trapped by the closed bay doors. “I’m leaving,” Kadar shouted. “Are you going to give the hot guy a lift to the nearest hotel?”

“Well, he can’t drive this,” Malik said. “Are you making dinner?”

“Not my night,” Kadar called as he went out through the door. It slapped shut and the grinding sound of Kadar locking it with the key echoed dully through the empty garage. Without the ear-splitting distraction of his brother’s music, the whole place seemed depressingly empty. So he headed for the door into the office.

Altair was sitting on the old couch with his legs stretched out in front of him. He’d traded his sopping wet clothes for a new pair of jeans and a darker shirt (shame about that, Malik liked the see-through one). He was glaring at his phone with his eyebrows at sharp angles and his hair still damply plastered to his head. 

“So, when you were driving it did you notice any shaking or grinding? Maybe some sort of humming noise, the smell of transmission fluid?” Basically, if Altair had not realized his car was on the verge of death it was because he had never driven it before. There was no way the poor thing experienced such a tragic fate without some kind of attempt at begging for mercy.

Rather than answer, Altair dropped his head back with a groan that seemed to indicate he had feared for his transmission and rather than addressing the situation before it worsened had simply tried to ignore it. He covered his face with his hand and said, “how much?”

“Worse case, at least two thousand. I’d have to get a better look.” No he didn’t. Altair’s car was a worst case scenario and it was morally wrong to offer him any sense of hope. “It’s usually better if you don’t wait until you lose control of your car on a highway to bring it in. If you own a car you should know how to take care of it.”

Altair sighed.

“Do you need a ride to a hotel? We have three not that far from here, depending on your price range.” Malik put the computer to sleep, turned the answering machine on the phone back on and dug his keys out of drawer. The keys to open the shop were on a separate key ring that he also had to find and clip onto his car keys. 

“Yeah,” Altair said. “That would be fantastic.”

Malik pulled the zipper of the coveralls down and yanked them off his shoulders before kicking them off his legs. His shirt was damp with sweat and his whole body smelled like an engine block coated lightly with deodorant. “Great, let me lock up and we’ll go.”

\--

The first trouble was that Altair said, “hey, I know you’re already doing me a favor but could you take me somewhere I could get something to eat? I’ll buy you something too.” Then he vetoed most of the close-by places to get a burger, tacos or fried chicken so they ended up at a relatively cheap sit-down place with cracked vinyl seats. Their waitress looked as if she had been working there since the fifties and had the smoker’s husky voice to further prove it. 

The second trouble was that Altair was really good looking. Absent the mud and water, he even smelled nice. His mouth was entirely too distracting and Malik spent too much time staring at it while he tried to keep up with the small talk they were exchanging. Sports, weather, local history and the sort.

“You said you were going to New Ghent?” Malik said.

“I was headed there,” Altair confirmed. “I was supposed to go accept a job there. I don’t really want to do it but it’s a job.”

“Jobs are hard to come by these days,” Malik said. But mostly he was looking-but-trying-not-to-stare at Altair’s lips. Or the pink drag of his tongue when he licked his lips. Or the way his lips curled at the edge in one of those really obnoxious smirks that only assholes employed. “What kind of work do you do?”

“I tell other people what they are doing wrong, mostly. Sometimes I get to fire them.” Altair’s body settled different in place as if he had only just that moment become aware of the way Malik had been trying not to look at his lips or his neck or the way the sleeves of his shirt hugged his arms. 

Malik leaned back because the space between them felt very narrow. “Who would listen to a man that ignores how his car is dying? Seems like they hired the wrong guy to me.” (His defense against being discovered lusting after people was to insult whoever was closest. It was one hundred percent guaranteed to keep him from ever getting laid.) “I don’t think I could take criticism from an idiot.” (He was: Never. Getting. Laid.)

The third problem was that Altair laughed. “You must not know how upper management works. It wasn’t my car. I was waiting to buy one until I found a place to live.”

“How long have you been driving this car that wasn’t yours?” Malik asked.

“A few months.”

“Idiot,” Malik repeated. “Reckless. Stupid. Ignorant. Are these the traits of upper management?”

Altair’s face was pink with mirth. “Not usually reckless, no.”

But the fourth problem was that after they finished the luke-warm, mediocre sufficient meals served tastelessly on chipped plates, Malik drove Altair to the closest hotel that was well-lit with a decent reputation. It was a chain hotel, four stories high, which had been recently built. It had a rounded driveway that fed directly into the lobby where happy receptionists were waiting to book you a room. It was for situations like this where relatively nice guys like him could shove attractive idiots like Altair out of the passenger side door and make a clean escape.

Then there was Altair was leaning his head toward the window looking through the doors and windows. “Maybe you should come in,” he said, “in case they don’t have a room for me.”

“Maybe you should go see if they have a room for you and then give me a thumbs up if they do so I can leave,” Malik said.

Altair pretended to consider this. “Maybe you should come in and make sure I get to my room safely.”

At which point, Malik could not pretend he wasn’t aware he was being propositioned with sex. “You think very highly of yourself,” Malik said (mostly to Altair’s mouth and not even slightly to any other part of his face). “Or very poorly. If you think you are going to get lost on your way, there is a woman right there that can provide you adequate directions.” He pointed at the receptionist that was now staring at them.

“It’s as good as you think it is,” Altair said.

That was a confusing statement. “What?” Malik asked. He even managed not to look at Altair’s mouth when he said it (or his arms all subtly tensed to show off). 

“My mouth. I’ve received very good reviews.” Then his smile (that had bordered on arrogant for so long) spread like a tease. He had a look of regret stuck on his face, though, as he said, “but I understand.”

“Shut up,” Malik said far more bluntly that he intended. His crisis was severe but brief. He went and found a place to park that seemed like it would afford him an easy get away and ignored Altair’s stupid smiling face as they got out of the car. It was hard to imagine what they must look like, Altair with all the appearance of a traveler and Malik with no bags and awkward sweat on his palms. 

The fifth problem was they ended up in an elevator together. Altair (apparently now exhausted with the effort of not engaging in semi-public sexual displays) pulled him into a kiss that pushed Malik back against the hand-rail. It was an easy-confident gesture that was quickly as lewd as the wet press of Altair’s tongue slipping into his mouth. Clearly, Altair had a set perception of how this arrangement was going to go. Malik took advantage of the situation to get his hands on Altair’s body—heated and tight—in those few brief moments before the elevator lurched to a stop on their floor. 

\--

The hotel room was as anonymous as any room in any hotel had ever been. The bedspread was something floral and unremarkable, the art on the walls was instantly forgettable and the curtains that covered the windows were a bluish-color. The room was cool enough to be uncomfortable under normal circumstances but a blessed relief against Malik’s quickly overheating skin. 

Altair threw his bag on the bed, crossed the room to flip open the control panel on the room air conditioner to adjust the temperature, and then straightened up again in time with pulling his shirt off over his head. The grayish filth of the mud he’d fallen in was still a stain across his back, still in the creases in his neck and drying in scaly patches along the backs of his arms. For a man who apparently worked in an office telling everyone else how they weren’t doing their jobs properly, he was remarkably well-cut. Obviously due to this own deeply ingrained arrogance and vanity because Altair was rubbing his palm against his own chest like he simply could not resist the chance to feel himself up. 

“Do you even need me?” Malik asked. He hadn’t managed to do anything more impressive than leave his shoes near the door and even that left him in his socks feeling really out of place. If it weren’t for the fact that he was desperately aroused at even the notion of touching another living human (and an attractive one at that) he might have just left. 

Then Altair came back over to stand in front of him, all ten of his fingers curling up under the bottom hem of his shirt and pulling it steadily upward toward his shoulders. He was looking right at Malik’s face (not his body) with his tongue at the corner of his lips and his breath in anticipatory little gusts. The backs of his fingers rubbed against his belly and chest as he worked the shirt up. Malik lifted his arms and Altair pulled it up and off before throwing it on the floor. He made a low hissing noise before he pressed his hand against Malik’s chest, this thumb brushing across the coarse, dark hair there. His cheeks were pinked in pretty highlights just before he ducked his head and kissed Malik again.

It was intense (almost painful) with Altair’s hands going around his back to pull his hips forward and press his shoulders back. They were swapping the taste of dinner back and forth across their wet lips and Malik was working up some sense of shame at how hard he already was even before Altair’s hand dragged back around his waist to push down between his legs and grip at his dick through his pants. The arrogant-low-laugh that broke the kiss was embarrassing for everyone. 

“I thought you were supposed to be sucking my dick,” Malik said.

Altair squeezed his hand around the bulge of Malik’s erection. “I like the way you smell,” he said, “but if you think I’m putting your dick in my mouth, we should probably take a shower.”

Malik stared back into Altair’s unflinching stare and dropped his hands to the waistband of his pants to tug open the button and zipper. “Get undressed.” His own body wasn’t fashioned to look good but he had been working since he was a kid and years of effort had given him a nice, natural definition. 

Altair stripped with almost comical speed and went to turn the shower on in the bathroom. “How hot do you like it?”

“Not cold,” Malik answered. He pulled his socks off and dropped all his clothes in the same pile before going into the bathroom. It was white-porcelain everywhere with a perfectly serviceable tub. Altair found the prepackaged individual soaps and got into the shower as the water started to steam. Malik accepted his soap and got into the shower with him. The water in the bottom of the tub was gray with dirt from where it was washing off Altair’s skin and out of his hair. Malik wasn’t nearly as dirty (well, not in a way that made the water change colors) but he wasn’t as needlessly inefficient about getting clean either. Under the unforgiving bright lights of the hotel bathroom, Altair maintained his attractiveness. In comparison, Malik felt lumpy, hairy and troll-like. 

(Good thing was, Altair seemed to find hairy trolls attractive.)

There was a flinch in Altair’s eyebrows in the half-seconds between him deciding to attack Malik and him actually grabbing him by the face and pressing their mouths together. They were kissing again, Malik against the wall and Altair’s wet-bare-dick grinding against his belly. He rested his hands on Altair’s waist and followed the sluice of water down over his hips to grip at his firm ass and loved the vibrating moan that earned him. 

“Can I fuck you?” Altair asked.

“After you suck my dick,” Malik said. He made it sound so forceful, as if he felt like Altair had to earn the privilege. That wasn’t his intention but everything about this jerk rubbed him the wrong ways (well, almost all of them) and he couldn’t shake his defensive rudeness. He might have apologized if not for the way Altair’s mouth opened in an inaudible breath of _arousal_. Being bossed around and made to earn sex clearly worked for him. 

Maybe, Malik meant ‘suck my dick out in the other room’ or ‘suck my dick when we get to a bed’ or anything but the way Altair grabbed him by the hips and pushed him until he was leaning back against the wall opposite the showerhead. He didn’t mean for the jerk to get on his knees in the bathtub with his long-long fingers wrapping around Malik’s dick. He just wasn’t prepared for the way Altair eyed him like he was sizing up how big an obstacle this was going to be before he licked his lips all shiny-and-wet. “Stop looking at it,” Malik said. His hand was in Altair’s hair and his dick was brushing across the man’s fat lower lip as Altair looked up at him with that same arrogant lilt to the edges of his mouth. “Open your mouth wider,” he said. (But who was he, even? This was not his life.) 

Altair opened his mouth with a clear challenge in his eye and his damp eyebrows conveying how he didn’t think Malik had it in him. (Of course he didn’t, this guy was paid to go around telling people they were incompetent despite the fact that he wasn’t even capable of caring for a car.) Malik wrapped his hand around the base of his dick over where Altair’s fingers were already curled around it and rubbed the head of his dick against the open spread of Altair’s lips. He pushed his hips forward just far enough to slip inside of his mouth, across the smooth surface of his tongue and out again. The hand he had threaded through Altair’s hair tightened so his blunt (dirty) fingers were pulling Altair forward to meet the next shallow thrust. 

Nothing that had he had experienced in life prepared him for the way Altair’s eyes fluttered shut or how his free hand dropped to stroke his own dick like the whole thing was too-fucking-intense to resist. His lips closed around Malik’s dick and he took him in _all the way_. 

“Oh fuck,” Malik mumbled (but not in English) just seconds before his every attempt to maintain some level of embarrassment over this sudden sexual transformation he was experiencing melted away. He tipped his head back and tightened his grip on Altair’s hair before he started thrusting into his mouth and the bastard took _it_ with pleased-wet-sounds. 

The water splashing into the bottom of the tub was interrupted only by what part of Altair’s body was still under the spray. Malik was breathing the heavy-hot-air as the steam from it made the mirror fog and his skin start to sweat. And he was trying to watch the way his dick slid easily in over Altair’s lips but he couldn’t make himself concentrate on it because he hadn’t gotten laid in _months_ and nothing would intensify his embarrassment more than coming in the first five minutes. 

(But he wanted to. He wanted to so desperately.)

Altair either sensed his dilemma or got tired of having his mouth fucked (that was not likely from the noises he made) because he pulled back with a slick-wet-popping noise and was back on his feet with pretty-red lips and impatient hands. He kissed Malik again, elbows against the wall behind him, crushing them together so he could rub his dick against Malik with slow-purposeful thrusts. 

“I want you to come with my dick in you,” Altair said against his mouth. 

Right. Of course. Didn’t everyone? Malik didn’t say any of that or moan agreeably, “you think that was enough to impress me?”

“Do you give everyone this much shit?” Altair asked. His hands had found their way to Malik’s ass.

“If they deserve it,” Malik answered. (He had to learn to shut up.) He pressed his thumb against Altair’s reddened lip and pulled it down. He looked at his mouth and not his eyes. “I wasn’t finished with you yet.” Then he hooked a hand around Altair’s shoulder and pushed him back down. More amazing than the fact that he felt perfectly in the right to do so was how easily Altair let himself be pushed. How happily he went back to sucking dick in a hotel bathroom. 

(Fuck.)

Malik closed his eyes and concentrated on nothing with a particular emphasis on not concentrating on the greedy moans vibrating all around his dick. 

\--

It was Malik, not Altair, that finally said, “fuck, _fuck me_ ,” because his whole body felt like it was poised on a point of pain and he wanted nothing more than to orgasm (except maybe to come all over Altair’s face). It seemed like a minor thing to wait until Altair got what he (said he) wanted out of the whole thing. Once the words were out of his mouth, he was impatient to get it. 

Altair turned the water off and got out of the tub on unsteady feet (apparently kneeling on the hard porcelain for extended periods of time was bad for your circulation) and pulled Malik out after him. They were idiots dripping water all over the floor, naked and chilly in the still-cool room. Malik got shoved back on the bed and Altair dug into his bag to retrieve a small black zipper bag where he kept his lube and condoms.

Malik took the lube and Altair took the condom. It had been a long enough time since the last time he’d gotten fucked that the sight of Altair’s happily hard dick seemed daunting but arousal and lack of common sense was giving him a false sense of euphoria. Malik slicked his fingers and reached down between his spread legs to spread the lube around his hole. It was an easy slip when he pushed them inside but his finger was nothing in comparison. “How do you want to do this?” Malik asked.

“This is good,” Altair said. “Is it good for you?” He grabbed Malik by the thigh just below his knee and pushed his leg up toward his shoulder. The bed dipped and groaned as Altair moved forward on his knees. His stupid face was attractively spotted with arousal as he stared openly at Malik’s fingers pulling free of his body. 

“Yeah.” 

“Ready?”

Sure, why not? Malik nodded and Altair pressed the fat head of his dick against his hole with his lip pinched between his white teeth. It occurred to him as his hole stretched open with protest, that he might have been overly-confident. Malik closed his eyes and tipped his head back as his body tightened reflexively against the intrusion. Altair was moaning appreciatively and Malik thought he might have to hit him. 

“Fuck,” Altair said from somewhere above him, “you are _tight_.” 

And, he simply didn’t have to make it sound so unbelievable. Malik reached up toward him and found his arm, yanked him down and kissed him because it was the second-best use of his mouth. Letting the idiot talk would only end badly for everyone. Altair liked it, kissed him and sucked on his neck and fucked him until it felt _good_ and Malik stroked his back and arms and said filthy encouraging things to him like, “fuck me harder” and, “put your hand back on my leg” and “bite my nipple” and, “slow and deep, I want to feel your fat cock inch-by-inch.” 

It was nothing he’d ever said to anyone and it should have been more distracting than it was. Altair was good at taking direction up until he decided he was finished accepting requests and pulled out to roll Malik onto his stomach to finish fucking him.

\--

Kadar was not at home when Malik got there (which was for the best) so he took a shower and ate a snack and went to bed uneventfully. 

In the morning, though, he woke up and found his brother in the kitchen with his smug face caught in a grin that would have made the devil proud. His stupid beard he refused to shave was obnoxiously dark on his face. “So,” Kadar said, “where were you last night?”

Malik probably could have convincingly denied every insinuation that Kadar’s abrasive grin was making if he’d only thought far enough ahead to put a shirt on before going into the kitchen. As it stood the little hickies on his chest damned him. “I was out,” Malik said.

“Was the closet getting too tight?” Kadar asked with exaggerated sympathy. 

At which point, Malik slapped him. “I don’t want to hear about this all day.”

\--

But, it was, “you’re moving slow this morning, Malik. How big was his dick?”

And, “do you give head? How do you practice something like that? I’m just assuming you practice.”

And, “did you tell him about your dildo collection? You should invite him over to see it sometime.”

All of which was the usual sort of conversation that Malik could handle (even if it was annoying) but then a cab pulled up to the front of the shop and Altair got out looking just as obnoxiously good looking today as he had the night before. 

Kadar was _delighted_ at this development. He threw his wrench on the ground and took off at a run to get to the office door before Malik could catch him. The door slapped open with the force of Kadar’s body knocking into it and Malik’s fingers slid down the back of his coveralls searching for and not finding purchase to stop him. Instead he grabbed Kadar’s ankle and pulled his leg out from under him. He hit the ground full-force with a shout of objection. 

Malik went up the steps and feigned concern. “Why are you so clumsy?” he asked. 

Kadar punched him in the thigh from where he was lying on the floor. Malik kicked him (gently) in the stomach and got hit again for his troubles. He turned around to see Altair standing on the other side of the counter. 

“How bad is it?” Altair asked. “Should I even bother trying to fix it?”

“No,” Malik said. “You’d be better off buying a new car and neglecting it from pristine condition than paying to fix this one so you can neglect it.”

Kadar was wiggling a hand up his pants and Malik kicked him again without looking down at him. His brother groaned weakly at him. 

“It’s amazing how angry you are at me,” Altair said. “I can’t stay in town, I have to be in New Ghent this afternoon. I’ll call you when I figure out what to do with the car.”

“Fine,” Malik said. “It might get stolen from the lot before you get to it. We don’t take responsibility for that.”

“ _Amazing,_ ” Altair said again. He took a business card from the little tray on top of the counter and motioned back over his shoulder to where the cab was still waiting for him. “It was a pleasure doing business with you,” he said with the utmost sincerity.

“Thank you,” Malik said. It was, in fact, _amazing_ how he managed to make those two words sound so venomous. Then he stood there as Altair turned and left and only after the door slapped shut did Kadar clear his throat from the ground where he was still laying. “What?” Malik demanded.

“Was he just really bad at fucking? I mean, can you even judge at this point? At what point do you become a virgin again? A year? Two? Four?” The grin across his face was terribly pleased with itself. 

Malik kicked him when he stepped across his body. “Get back to work.”


	2. Chapter 2

The truth was that Altair didn’t really _need_ to go back to the mechanic that simultaneously seemed to be attracted to and in constant hatred of him. There were plenty of mechanics in New Ghent (and at least one of them had to be decent). Two weeks after he’d managed to make it to his new apartment and new job, he finally found a car and since he’d yet to dispose of the old one, it seemed fitting and logical to go do something about that. 

A phone call might have been sufficient but he managed to convince himself that the two hour drive was worthwhile. A fact that made Malik’s greeting all the more teeth-gratingly annoying (and yet somehow still endearing). 

“Intelligent people know how to use the phone,” Malik said. 

“I needed a good mechanic to look at the new car and give me some pointers about how to take care of it,” Altair said. That was not very high on the list of reasons that he’d driven all the way back to Malik’s crumbling garage but it _was_ on the list. 

Malik glared at him with his sternly sloped eyebrows and the set of his mouth translating all his unspoken dismissive disapproval. “I didn’t realize that you were able to gather a worthwhile opinion of my mechanic skills by sucking my dick.” There was a flash like a half-breath of time when Malik’s face went red all along his cheeks and then it paled back out into the warm tone of his skin. The sweat in his hair had dried in such a way that all of it stood up in erratic peaks while the grease stuck to his hands left his knuckles and fingernails looking filthy and black. 

(And the smell, that combination of being useful with one’s hands: grease and sweat and dusty coveralls.)

Altair smiled because years of training at his job had drilled the necessity of a nice smile into his head. 

The reaction his smile got him was an even more suspicious glare from the cranky mechanic and then, “couldn’t you just find someone in your actual city suffering from impaired judgment that would agree to have sex with you?”

“I went to five different garages,” no he hadn’t, “all I found was married men and ugly guys. I realize that you’ve got a sarcasm quota you’re trying to fill but I did just drive two hours to get here and if we’re going to have sex I’d consider it a worthwhile journey.”

Malik was _angry_ in an entirely different shade of red than he had been before. His mouth opened to do some yelling that Altair probably wouldn’t forget in time with the door being kicked open behind him. The other mechanic (from the physical resemblance they shared, most likely a relative) stomped into the room. 

“Weren’t you the guy that killed his car?” Kadar (Altair was going by the name tag stitched onto his coveralls). “I was just thinking to myself I hadn’t heard about you in a few days. You’re back, that’s good; I thought we could talk about something else for once.”

Altair smiled at Malik (genuinely). “You talk about me?”

The cutting glare he got in return seemed to indicate that nothing Malik said about him was good. Kadar plucked one of those white papers asking what he wanted done with his car from behind the raised counter and set it up where he could get it. There was also a pen that worked (on the first try). 

“You have to fill out one of these before you harass the staff, sir.” 

Malik did not wait for him to write a single thing but turn around and leave the office. Altair watched him go until he couldn’t see him any longer and then he wrote down the information on his new car. 

\--

Most of his day was spent looking at stuff on his phone while sitting on the dilapidated old couch in the smelly waiting room of the garage. His battery and his patience began to wear out at nearly the same moment leaving him with a feeling of having wasted the better part of a day. (Hope, however, kept him securely in place even after the music in the garage was turned off and Kadar stopped in the office long enough to say good bye before leaving.)

Altair left the couch to go out through the front door. There was a door that led inside the garage and when he tried it, it swung open easily. Malik was standing inside with his back to the door, his coveralls rolled down to his waist. His rounded shoulders wet with sweat that had soaked into the undershirt he was wearing. There were four streaks of grease going around the back of his neck. Malik was looking down at something on the table and only noticed Altair after the door slapped shut behind him. 

“There’s a sign on that door that says ‘ _employees only_ ’,” Malik said. He turned around so one of his hands was still resting on the table and the other was hanging at his side. After a whole afternoon of working he had the distinct look of needing to escape. There was a tilt to his head that was inviting on a primal level. “Can’t you read?”

Altair nodded. Yes, sir he could read indeed. He rubbed his palms against his pants as he wandered (oh-so-innocently) over to where Malik was waiting for him. “Is my new car better than my first one?”

“Unless you neglect it with the same efficiency,” Malik said. His chest hair was visible through the stretched-white-cotton of his undershirt. It was thick and dark and Altair wanted to scratch his fingers through it again. There was a slight shift in Malik’s body language, as if he were flipping some internal switch from offensive to defensive. He relaxed against the table, with his feet spread apart and both of his palms resting against the surface of it. “Why are you smiling?”

The truth was, Altair hadn’t even realized he was. His smile was entirely reflexive most of the time. The more people pissed him off the more he smiled. His wandering feet finally put him in front of Malik.

Malik tipped his head to look at him and the sarcastic set of his lips made the eager willingness of the rest of his body even more prominent. “I have trouble believing you drove two hours for the chance of having sex with me,” Malik said.

“I’m attracted to bossy, sarcastic men with incredible bodies and chest hair,” Altair said. He liked the look of unashamed disbelief on Malik’s face and how genuine his inability to understand his own attractiveness seemed to be. Altair pressed his hand against the center of Malik’s chest where the shirt was still damp and the thick hair that grew on his chest poked through it here-and-there. He rubbed it up and down again as Malik stared at him with something less than admiration. “You don’t believe me.”

“Well, would you?”

If they were in reversed places, and Altair was being asked to accept the idea that someone drove two hours just to have sex with him when all the evidence was there, he most likely would choose to believe it. “Try me,” is what he said instead. “Tell me what to do.”

At first, Malik just stared at him with his mouth closed and his hands tightening around the edge of the table and then he said, “kiss me.” 

Altair kissed him with one hand pressed against his chest aggravating his chest hair and the other curling around his neck where those black streaks of grease were. He expected resistance or even aloof disinterest (it seemed like the sort of thing Malik would do: tell him to do something and make it difficult for him to accomplish) and was happily surprised by how Malik responded. His hands rested against Altair’s waist (oh-so-saintly) even as his mouth opened and his tongue did terribly lewd things against his own. 

“Take my shirt off,” Malik said. Altair stripped it off over his head and pinched his fingers around Malik’s nipples and got a glare in response for it. “Use your mouth,” Malik said, “I like your mouth.” He did too, his filthy fingers were pulling at his lower lip with a concentrated look of lust that made the slow-growing erection still trapped in Altair’s pants throb with sudden intensity. He nodded and ducked his head to suck the taste of a hard-day’s-labor off Malik’s skin. He started at his throat and worked his way steadily downward. 

Malik’s hands were pushing down the neck of his shirt, pressing tight and pulling at his back as he made hissing-little-noises of encouragement. “If you want to fuck me, you need to do better than that.” His blunt nails raked up Altair’s back in time with Altair’s teeth digging into the meat of his chest and Malik’s whole body arched so hard and so suddenly they were nearly knocked over by the motion. He ran his tongue over the mark, licked away the hurt of it and then pressed sweet-and-loving kisses over it as bloodspots started blooming up below the skin. His thumb pressed against it to keep the sting of it as prominent as possible. 

“Are you going to let me fuck you?” he asked. 

The answer was two hands slapping his ass, ten fingers tightening enough to leave marks on top of marks and then he was pulled forward by the hips so he was grinding against Malik. The rolled excess of his coveralls was a prominent bulge that kept Altair from feeling all the parts of his body he desperately wanted to feel. He bent low enough to grab Malik by the thighs and lifted him enough to set his ass on the table. The shameless, instinctive way Malik’s legs wrapped around him was in contrast to the hiss of breath that went through his teeth. “Maybe I want to fuck you this time.”

There were a dozen answers to that (at least) but none of them so convincing as kissing the confusing bastard again. He rocked his hips forward against the sturdy heat of Malik’s. There were tools falling off the table and hitting the concrete with sharp metallic objections but the hard pants of Malik’s breath was closer-closer-more-important. He held onto it with both hands and a greedy mouth even as Malik’s hands were down the waistband of his pants pulling at his ass. 

“I hope you brought supplies,” Malik said.

“Yeah, of course,” Altair said. He believed in always being prepared. He might have explained how he always had some manner of supplies on him but he was being dragged back into the same kiss again. 

\--

After, when they were both lying on their backs on the concrete—Malik naked save for his socks and Altair with his clothing pulled askew in the appropriate places—the shop seemed to settle and groan around them as the urgency faded. 

“Want to get something to eat?” Altair asked. His skin was warm from a good orgasm and he was fearless with the lingering pain of dirty scratches going down his back. 

Malik laughed. “Perhaps we should order delivery. We are in no state to go anywhere.” He sat up and found his pants hanging over the edge of the table they abandoned early on. His underwear were farther away and for a moment, it seemed as if Malik was going to go get it and then thought better of it. Instead he flipped his pants out and pulled them on without standing up.

“Good point,” Altair said. He fixed his own pants and found his phone where it had skittered across the floor. “What delivers here?” He expected to get more sarcasm as an answer but Malik listed a variety of places that delivered (they decided on pizza) and even knew the numbers for most of them. Altair called them and ordered the food while Malik found his undershirt and pulled it on (shame that) then sat with his back against the leg of the table. “Maybe you should give me your phone number,” Altair said, “so I can call you if I have car questions.”

“You don’t have to keep up pretenses,” Malik said. He stretched his legs out in front of him. 

“What pretense am I keeping up?”

“That you’re interested in me. We had sex. You’ll be gone soon. I’d rather not ruin this by worrying about whether or not you’re asking to be polite or if you are actually interested. Either way, it is troubling.” But the amazing thing was how serious Malik was when he said it. This was simply the way he felt. 

“Okay,” Altair said. He tugged his shirt down and sat up. “But since I’m here now, why not tell me about your garage?” 

Malik sighed at him but he was kind enough to humor him. He told him about how his brother and him were orphans (Malik used the word “effectively” to indicate that his parents were most likely alive somewhere and were no longer significant). They had become mechanics because the opportunity existed more than any deep love for vehicles. (It helped that Malik liked his job that much was evident by how he talked about it.) The garage was a recent investment (going well, apparently). 

The food interrupted Malik and he seemed embarrassed to have talked for so long.

“See you around,” Altair said when he left.

“Bye,” is what Malik said.

\--

Altair wasn’t the sort of guy to beat a dead horse. Not because he was blessed with common sense but because he didn’t see the point in wasting his time. Ignoring the things that weren’t his time and effort had gotten him far in life. (Much farther than his grandfather seemed to think him capable of managing.) It had also served him in removing people that were doing nothing but dragging him down. Everything that was a waste of time or a drain of his energy was sheared away.

It was completely understandable (some might say rational) that the attractive but surly mechanic from a town and a half away wasn’t interested in him. 

\--

Two hours was too fucking far to drive for sex. Altair told himself that the whole time he was on the interstate in early-Thursday afternoon traffic feeling somewhat like an idiot. By the time he got to Malik’s garage the annoying little noise that his car had been making had become a noticeable sound.

“You drove here while your car was making that noise,” is how Malik greeted him from behind the counter. The disbelief on his face did nothing at all to hide how pleased he was to see Altair. (To be fair, it could have just been his dick that was pleased to see him.) It was late in the afternoon, far too late to be dropping off his car and expecting to get it back right away. “Is that because you’re incapable of common sense or because you are feeling simultaneously suicidal and homicidal?”

“I just wanted to bring my car to a mechanic I trust.”

Malik’s glare accused him of being stupid. His kid brother (who was sitting at the computer in his leaving-work-early clothes) snorted at that. Then he closed out of the browser he was using and stood up with an exaggerated stretch. “Remember I won’t be home tonight,” Kadar said (noticeably, loudly, mostly to Altair). Then he smiled and slapped Malik on the back before going out through the shop door and leaving the office feeling stifling in his wake. 

“Well,” Altair said. 

“Let me be clear. You are a reckless idiot for endangering your own life and the lives of everyone around you. If your vehicle has a legitimate problem, do not drive two hours to have me look at it. Not only will I refuse to look at your car, I will kick you in the balls.” Then Malik pulled the slip of paper that Altair had been filling out away from him and slapped it down on the lower desk below the high countertop. He didn’t even look at it but said, “also, we’re closing so we will not have a chance to get to this tonight.”

Altair couldn’t even do a credible job at pretending to be worried. “Do you know somewhere I can stay?”

\--

The first problem was that Altair thought Malik tasted-and-smelled something like a drug he just couldn’t get enough of. He wanted to lick the taste of hard work off his neck and suck it off his fingers and rub himself all over it just for the off chance of absorbing some of it to carry with him after he’d left.

Oh-but-the second problem was that Malik had a devilish mouth with a ruddy-red blush that turned his cheeks all rosy beneath his five-o-clock shadow that made his cheeks rough. His muscles weren’t ornamental but well-earned. The whole of his body was thick-and-sturdy, a truly impressive specimen of masculinity. Altair scratched his fingers through the hair that grew thick across his chest and down over his belly and bit at the meaty flesh on his thighs. He loved the sound of Malik’s voice caught between surly-snarls and mewling-moans. 

The third problem was the way Malik stood and stared at him when he shoved Altair on his knees. It wasn’t a fresh discovery for Altair but it was an important (nearly essential) part of his sexual happiness and Malik had found it out and delighted in it with very little encouragement. His demand for oral sex was a great show of dominance with zero sense of shame in the aftermath. 

The biggest and the worst problem was that after it was over and Altair was spread over Malik’s still quivering body like a blanket, the man stroked the hair behind his ears and kissed him sweet-as-honey. All slow and syrupy in a way that twisted around in Altair’s gut where he’d cut away all the things that didn’t do anything good for him. Malik smiled when he kissed him and let him stay as long as he wanted with only a few minor adjustments of his legs and his arms—ignorant or uncaring of the build-up of sweat and the slow-drying semen stuck between their bodies. 

\--

Altair stayed the night and ate cereal for breakfast in the morning. He took a nap on the old couch in the garage and went home in the mid-morning when Kadar threw his keys at him and said Malik was finished with it.

Outside, Malik was walking to the next car he had to work on and Altair caught him halfway between the open bay doors and the vehicle needing work. He said, “can I have your number?”

“There has to be easier ways for you to get laid,” Malik said.

“More convenient, yes. But I like this,” Altair said. He motioned between them.

Malik laughed and it was a filthy kind of sound, unhappy at the onset and resigned at the end. “I suppose there aren’t many people easier than I am. I don’t want to give you my number. I’d hate to make it convenient.”

Altair considered insulting him.

Malik smiled. “Don’t come back if you don’t like it.” 

\--

Altair liked his job because now-and-again he got to fire the people that were incompetent. But he liked it best (and most) when he got to fire the ones that were incompetent but arrogant. Like the smug, oily bastard Abbas who had somehow risen through the ranks of the company (one assumes by lubing the way with the almost literal grease that seemed to follow him around like a perpetual stink). While most of the upper management had accepted him with begrudging reluctance, Abbas had made a point to throw pointed, unwanted, unnecessary comments at him from the onset.

It had started with, _oh you have so much free time. Must be nice to not have a girlfriend._ To _how does one get a job like yours? If you’ve never actually worked the job how do you know how to do it better?_ to the chuckle of his stupid fat face saying, _Carl’s gay. Don’t get locked in the bathroom with him, if you know what I mean. Unless you like that sort of thing._

Altair wanted to take the lard-infested asshole out behind the building and boil him in his own juices but absent the ability to commit brutal, inhumane homicide, he settled for smiling (very pleasantly) at his face as he fired him with calm and exacting authority.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I called this meeting. Well. Mr. Sofian, you’re fired,” was what he said. Then he nodded and picked up his pen and his paper and left. 

That feeling of power followed him straight out of the building, into his car and down the interstate. 

\--

Malik was packing up to leave when Altair found him in the garage’s office. He was exasperated at the sound of the bell chime from the opening door but it mutated into something like grateful relief. “Lock the door,” he said.

Altair said, “take your pants off.” He turned back to flip the lock on the front door and flipped the open sign around to indicate they were closed. He heard the jingle of Malik’s belt being loosened and went around the swinging door that allowed him access behind the counter. Malik kissed him with the same violent need that Altair felt in his own chest.

(Well wasn’t that funny.)

They fucked with Malik bent over the desk, one of his hands slapping pens and papers this-way and that and the other pressed along the edge of the higher counter as he pressed his forehead against the crook of his elbow. His voice was a stream of encouragement as his body rocked up against the desk (going thump-thump-thump in counter point to the slap-slap-slap of their bodies meeting). 

After, Malik was sitting in the old desk chair and Altair was leaning back against the desk thinking seriously about taking up the habit of smoking (again). Malik licked his lips and tipped his head back so the full length of his neck was on display like a courtship ritual. They just fucked (quick and hard) but Altair was already thinking about doing it again. “Bad day?” Malik asked.

“Good day,” Altair corrected. “Bad days are different.”

“What kind of different?”

Altair shrugged. “What about you? Bad day?”

“Boring. Mundane. Dull.” Malik looked to the side at his phone sitting in the scattered debris of the desk and when it did nothing but continue to lay there, he looked back at Altair. His tongue was vivid pink across the red of his lips. “Food?”

“Can we have sex again after?” Altair asked.

Malik rolled his eyes. “Depends on whether or not you manage not to say something too stupid to ignore while we’re eating.” He stood up and fixed his belt before grabbing his phone off the counter. “I say you’ve got a fifty-fifty chance.”

\--

Malik took him to eat at a waffle house that seemed like it hadn’t evolved past the sixties. They sat in a booth not even slightly designed for two six-foot-people and spent half of the time they looked at the menus knocking their feet and knees together. 

“How’s your brother?” Altair asked.

“He is fine,” Malik said. “What about you? You never talk about yourself.”

“I like listening to you talk.”

“Or you have nothing and there is nothing to talk about,” Malik said. He took a sip of his water and roll his neck as he robbed at a sore spot and then looked back at Altair who had taken to flattening out the paper from his straw. Malik sighed in a distinctly sympathetic way. He did not press for information about Altair’s lack of forthcoming about himself. “Why was your day a good one?” Malik asked instead.

Telling him about firing Abbas was infinitely better than trying to come up with interesting anecdotes about his own life. Malik was properly offended at all the right times and laughed heartily in the end. 

They fucked in Malik’s bedroom, hushed and under the blankets like idiots hiding from someone’s parents. 

\--

Altair woke up covered in grease stains with a note wrapped around his phone on the bedside table where he’d set it down the night before. It said:

_Had to work. Eat something from the kitchen if you want. Don’t steal anything. Here’s my number._

Altair smiled and folded the paper up and put it in his wallet when he was ready to leave.


	3. Chapter 3

Kadar lived in a state of perpetual amusement. There was no modifier or qualifier needed to attach to the statement because it was simply true. Kadar was amused by engine parts, he was amused by costumers with funny names, he was amused by French fries and when all else failed, he was amused by Malik. It had been the same the whole of their life but never so prominently as it was after Malik had gone off and stupidly given Altair his phone number.

The fact was, nobody called Malik except bill collectors, telemarketers and Kadar. He had a few casual friends that would call maybe once a month if there was some kind of contest at the karaoke bar and they needed a reliable partner but otherwise his phone was silent. It had started to seem like a waste to even keep it on. 

Now his phone was buzzing on the table in the garage, chirping warnings to him in the middle of dinner and announcing after-midnight thoughts and inane observations in the dead quiet before morning. 

“Stop sexting your boyfriend!” Kadar shouted at him from his bedroom. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Oh fuck off!” Malik shouted back.

\--

It was hard to be convincing when he said, “Altair is not my boyfriend, Kadar.” Because it didn’t matter how many times he said it (and he said it often enough) when Altair showed up on Thursday afternoons to drag him out to a carnival in the next town over (he’d seen an advertisement for it on the interstate) or to the movies (this really good one just came out, I need someone to help me eat popcorn) or just out to eat at whatever dump looked convenient (There’s pepper on the pepper on this food).

Kadar was sitting in the kitchen at two thirty in the morning, drinking milk and lazily scratching the steadily-growing beard that was obscuring the soft lines of his round face. Maturity had robbed Kadar of his baby-boy looks but he’d fought back by applying a pleasant layer of fat to restore the childishness of his face. The only trouble was that he’d also decided to grow a beard. He was a giant hairy child leaning back against the counter with a yawn. “I know more about your sex life than I ever wanted to know,” Kadar said.

Malik pulled a water bottle out of the fridge, twisted the cap off and tipped it up to drink while he stared at his brother. The various hot spots leftover on his body from being manhandled, nipped and fucked by Altair were still bright in his memory. He was wearing a weathered old shirt and his boxers with semi-certainty that he’d covered any incriminating evidence of his activities before leaving the bedroom. The familiar tug of semi-shame about his sex life stung a bit even as Kadar smiled at him like he approved. When the water was half gone, Malik licked his lips and said, “makes up for that time you dated that girl that wanted you to spank her all the time.”

Kadar tipped his head back and laughed. “She was a good one. I’m not saying that I disapprove. I’m just surprised.” 

Altair wandered out wearing nothing but his pants and the various pink bite marks that Malik had left on his chest. He hovered in the doorway for a second (clearly unsure of his welcome) before clearing his throat. “I was thirsty.”

“I thought Malik just gave you something to drink,” Kadar said. His tone was so effortlessly casual it was unreal. 

There was the faintest of pink embarrassment on Altair’s face before he rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “I just,” he said and stuttered on the words before clear his throat again. He looked as innocent as an angel saying, “I guess I just can’t ever get enough.”

Kadar’s quick grin approved. Malik opened the fridge to grab another water and threw it at Altair. “I like you,” Kadar said. “But you two need to keep it down. I’ve got to sleep.”

\--

Nothing was perfect because two months into a regular schedule, Altair started asking him to come visit him in New Ghent. 

“I’ve got an apartment and everything,” Altair said. They were sitting in the waiting room of the garage while Malik ate the sandwich he’d scraped together out of the sparse contents of his cupboards. Altair was there only until Malik’s break was over and then he was going to waste time until the garage closed. (One assumed.) 

“I don’t even know why you come here,” Malik said to him, “why would I come see you?”

Altair looked to the side, jaw tense and eyes hollowed out of all good will. He took a moment to grit his teeth and then his mouth opened with a slow-unhinging sound. “Fine,” he said. Then he looked at his watch and got up off the couch with as much grace as he could manage. “I’ll see you later?”

Malik thought about saying, ‘unless you don’t come back’ but a weird twist of guilt kept him from speaking. Instead he nodded. 

\--

All the time (not just sometimes) Malik was embarrassed by how easily, how quickly and how eagerly he was willing to have sex with Altair regardless of how potentially embarrassing the where and when could be. It was at-his-house, in-his-room with the door closed and the lights on. Altair was spread out under him like a gift from _God_ and Malik was still a clumsy, hair-covered troll with lumpy parts and embarrassing little moans climbing out of his chest. Altair’s hands were spread out across his chest, thumbs-and-fingers pinching at his nipples while his legs wrapped so loosely and elegantly around Malik. His sounds were little gasps of effort knocked out of him until his eyes fluttered closed and he was saying things like “ _Yeah, that’s good._ ” and “ _right there, good, right there-right—_ ”

But just as frequently, it was, “ _shhhh_ ” hissed against the back of his neck. Altair’s clean-clean hand across his mouth and Malik’s grit-and-grease stained ones spread across the cracked porcelain of the sink in the bathroom too-too-small to contain one (much less two) full grown men. The space was hot-and-claustrophobic. Malik’s under shirt was twisted up under his arms and his pants were dropped down to his thighs. Altair was biting the back of his neck, rolling his hips to grind his dick inside of Malik with a delightful little huff to his breath that was _mean-spirited_ at best.

\--

It was really inevitable that the regular visits dwindled. The first time wasn’t worthy of note because Altair drove _two hours_ to come see him and it was understandable that he’d get sick of it eventually. The second time he invited Malik to come visit him over the weekend since he had two meetings Saturday and Sunday but otherwise he was free. 

Kadar took note the third time. He was packing up to visit a friend for a few days but took time to point out, “where’s Altair?”

“Not coming,” Malik said. He was taking advantage of all the free time to catch up on any number of TV shows that he’d neglected. With determination he was even able to almost believe himself when he said that it was for the best. “Have fun.”

“Well why don’t you go see him?” Kadar asked.

“I’m not driving two hours to get laid, Kadar,” Malik said. “Aren’t you leaving?”

“Wait,” Kadar said. He slung his back up on his back and took his keys in one hand. “You still think this is about sex? I don’t know if you’ve gotten a good look at Altair but he doesn’t need to drive two hours to see _you_ just to get sex. Maybe,” Kadar said the word like he couldn’t even bring himself to believe it, “he likes you for more than your ass. I could be wrong.” He shrugged. “Of course maybe he just fucked you so much your ass is stretched out of shape.” His brother’s smug smile stayed firmly on his face even as Malik glared at him.

“Leave,” Malik said.

\--

But when Altair was there, they were idiots in the grocery store laughing about jerk sauce and rump roasts. Altair’s arm was around his waist while he rested his chin on Malik’s shoulder so he could read the label of the ‘convenience meals’ entrée they were considering versus the can of soup they’d thought they wanted from several aisles back. “You know,” Altair said with his chin bumping into Malik’s shoulder, “we could just make our own chili.”

“How do you even make chili?” Malik asked. They were idiots standing in front of the packets of seasoning arguing about whether or not to get fresh onions or use dried onion flakes. They carried the pile of groceries for a single meal up to the register (unconcerned with the cost) and dropped it on the conveyer belt with stupid laughs of accomplishment.

In his kitchen, they were awkward with bumping elbows and misplaced feet. Kadar showed up when the chili was _simmering_ with compliments about how it smelled delicious. Altair had been half-way through talking about his Mother (who he never mentioned) and how she had always enjoyed cooking in the years before she got sick. 

“I think we did alright,” Altair said when he looked in the pot. But Malik wanted to kick his brother in the gut and shove him out of the room because there was more to the story of Altair’s Mother and he wanted to hear every-single-word.

“Don’t we have some of that freezer bread?” Kadar asked. He pulled open the freezer, found the bag of dinner rolls and threw them at Malik. “It’ll be perfect.”

\--

“Hey,” Altair whispered to him in the early morning (before sunrise, before his alarm, before anywhere close to time to be awake). He was dressed-already, hair damp and skin clean-scented even as he wiggled his hand under Malik’s blankets to pull at him. “I have to go, wake up a minute.”

Malik didn’t want to wake up but he let himself to be pulled onto his back and hooked an arm around Altair’s body. “Why so early?”

“I have a meeting.” Altair kissed him. “Are you ever going to come see me?” 

“Mm,” Malik mumbled. He opened his eyes enough to focus on Altair’s face. It was dim in his room with nothing but the alarm clock’s blue numbers and the distant glow of Altair’s phone (clenched in his fist) to offer light. “Maybe. I don’t know where you live.”

“Google maps,” Altair said before kissing him again. “I’ll give you my address and everything.” Then he kissed him one more time before he pulled away. “Think about it. Let me know.”

Malik made an agreeable noise but he was asleep again before he had time to worry about it.

\--

It was Wednesday (very suddenly) and Altair had sent him two texts inquiring about whether or not he was going to visit that weekend. It was evident from the wording (if not the number of texts) that he was trying very hard to be fair about it. Malik sat on his lunch break staring at his phone trying to work out if he should put forth the effort or ignore the requests until they stopped.

“Spare me the bullshit answer,” Malik said to Kadar when they were both back in the garage to work. “Do you think Altair actually wants to date me?”

Kadar had a wrench in one hand that he let bang against his thigh in exasperation. His sigh was heavy. There were lines on his face from how very hard he was working to contain his sarcasm. Finally he let out a noise like a balloon deflating. “I think you are dating. Once a man makes you a pot of homemade chili and smiles at your bad jokes, I think it’s time to stop fighting the inevitable.”

That was a stupid set of guidelines to follow. Malik frowned at his phone sitting (silently) on the big table against the wall. “What if I don’t want to go there?”

“Then you’re saying that you don’t want to put forth any effort to maintain this relationship with this guy that despite your many, many, many flaws finds you interesting and attractive enough to waste four of his life every weekend driving down here to see you and spend the time he is here quietly adoring you while you talk shit about him and boss him around in the bedroom.” Kadar shrugged. “So don’t go if you like being alone.”

Malik picked up a shop rag, balled it up and threw it at Kadar who ducked out of the way of it with a grin. “You just want me out of the house so you can have a party.”

“Yes I do,” Kadar said. “But you should go.”

\--

The interstate was Malik’s least favorite place to be (in all the world). The traffic after close-of-business on a Friday was a nightmare to behold every weekend. The ominous gray of the sky going black drove the anxiety building in his gut a little higher so that he was watching the signs on the side of the road looking for the exit number he’d memorized. Altair made the drive in two hours (so he said) but Malik made it in three (fucking traffic) and got lost taking the wrong turn toward Altair’s apartments. By the time he parked in the guest spot in the parking lot, the anger that spiked somewhere around the second accident on the interstate had escalated into furious tension that coiled in his head like sickening twist of pain. 

Altair was walking across the parking lot in a pair of old jeans and no shoes with his arm spread out. “You made it!” 

“Fuck you,” Malik snapped at him. He slammed his car door shut and shouldered the bag of clothes he’d brought. His head was throbbing and he wanted nothing as much as he wanted a safe place to lay his head down for a minute (and a good drink, a good drink would do a world of good). He let Altair hug him because fighting required effort. Altair’s hands slid up his arms to his shoulders, to the tension that tightened his at his neck. His fingers and thumbs were gentle at massaging away the clenched-tight pain there. 

“You can do whatever you want to me,” Altair said. “You’re _here_. I didn’t think I’d ever get you _here_.”

“You might never see me here again,” Malik said. He looked at Altair’s stupid smiling face. “I can’t believe you make that drive all the time.” Then he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you have Tylenol or something? My head is killing me.”

\--

New Ghent was the same as every city Malik had ever seen. They ate breakfast in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while Altair hummed at his phone that wouldn’t stop getting messages and Malik looked at the assortment of take-out menus on the fridge held in place by a variety of cheap-flat-magnets. 

“Problems at work?” Malik asked.

“Ha,” Altair said. “If it were only that simple. Family.” But he didn’t take the time to elaborate on what that meant. “There’s a car show in town today. Want to go?”

“I do love cars,” Malik said.

\--

Altair’s bed was nicer than Malik’s and his shower was newer too. His TV was ornamental without cable to make it useful but he had a laptop that fit nicely into their laps while they laid on his couch and watched half a season of some show they picked at random from the ‘what’s hot’ section. They didn’t fall into fucking the way Malik had gotten used to but pick themselves up when the show was over. Altair dropped their glasses into the sink and Malik dumped the crumbs out of the bowl they’d been eating popcorn out of. 

He used Altair’s toothpaste in the bathroom and went to find Altair throwing his clothes into the laundry hamper in the corner of his room. The bed was rumpled from last-night’s sleeping and Altair was sitting on the end of it wearing nothing but his underwear. He looked up at Malik with one arm stretched out to motion him closer. 

Malik let himself be pulled forward by the belt loops and watched Altair inching his shirt up by folding it out of the way so he could kiss his belly well-hidden beneath the thick growth of hair. He ran his fingers through Altair’s dusty-brown-hair and rubbed a thumb down his neck to rest a hand on his shoulder. “I like you.”

Altair made a soft noise against his ribs. His mouth was open and damp against Malik’s skin as his hands slid around to tighten around his ass and pull him forward. Malik lifted his knees up to climb onto the bed in Altair’s lap. “I like you too,” he said. He kissed Malik with one hand on his face and the other squeezing his thigh. 

\--

Life didn’t return to normal (exactly) because Malik was carrying around the knowledge that he’d gone off and driven three hours to see some idiot that liked being talked down to while he sucked dick. The idea of it, the notion of having wasted his time (both ways) filled up his head with airy accomplishment and made every stupid thing he did a reflection of something he’d done _there_. Two-days-later he was sick of how his brain wouldn’t shut-the-fuck-up about how _at Altair’s place_ there were red pot holders and hazelnut scented candles. 

So Malik was scrubbing the filth off his hands in the shop sink, reminiscing about the sturdy green soap in Altair’s shower. He was eating leftovers (again) wondering what kind of stupid meal they could make on the weekend.

At night, when he was supposed to be sleeping, he was sending texts about his day and Altair was telling him about this-guy-at-work and his pink-spotted-shirt. 

\--

“Tell me something,” Malik said when he was high-on-adrenaline. His body was singing from a well-earned orgasm and Altair was lying half-on-his side with sweat in his hair and a happy glow to his face. Their hands were still stuck together, Altair’s fingers squeezed around his as Malik pushed up and over so their arms were waving in the air over their heads. His leg was across Altair’s thigh and the sound of the CD skipping in the distance was a repetitive but background annoyance. “Something about you.”

“I don’t like okra,” Altair said. He was smiling as he wiggled flat onto his back. He put his free arm behind his head. “My Mom’s dead. I lived with my Aunt and cousins for a while. My cousin gave me that car I totaled.”

“My parents said they would rather I were dead than gay,” Malik said. He shrugged as he let his arm go lax and the weight of their two hand collapsed against Altair’s chest. He was looking at the wrinkles in the bedsheet instead of Altair’s face. “How old were you when your Mom passed?”

“Hey,” Altair said. He pulled his hand out from under his head to reach up and pull Malik closer to him. His arms were thick and heavy around Malik’s body. His voice a steady-hum-of-noise. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Malik laughed. “I’m far from perfect,” he said. “I’m snide. I’m rude. I’m selfish. But these character flaws are not because of my craving for cock.” He shifted so he was laying over Altair, his weight balanced on his elbows and his knees. “What about your Mom?”

Altair sighed. “I was twelve. I miss her. I don’t always, but sometimes when I want to show her something or I wish I could have introduced her to someone, I really _miss_ her.” He cocked his head to the side to look at Malik. “Not sure she would have liked you with all of your _flaws_ but I would have liked to introduce you.”

Malik kissed him because no power on earth could have stopped him. Altair fell into it gratefully. 

\--

“Ok,” Kadar said over breakfast on Altair’s weekend-at-their-place. He had given up reading the comics to stare at the two of them arguing about what they were going to do for the day. Altair was convinced they needed to go see a movie and Malik wanted to do something that didn’t involve sitting still for three straight hours. “But you’re not official until Malik takes you to the karaoke bar.”

Altair was puzzled by that statement and Malik kicked his brother under the table. “Karaoke? You can sing? I want to do karaoke. When does it open?”

“No,” Malik said.

“What? Why?”

Kadar was laughing to himself. “Guess you’re not that serious,” he said as he put his bowl in the sink. “Might have to up your blow job game, man.”

“I’ll blow you right now,” Altair said. He was on his phone searching for karaoke places in town. “This one opens at twelve. We could go to that one.” He was intent on this mission now and Malik rolled his eyes at the inevitable. “I’ll trade you sexual favors?”

“The ones you were going to give me for free a few minutes ago?” Malik asked. But he knew he was going to give the way Kadar (laughing to himself still) must have known he would. The way Altair’s smile knew that he would. It should have infuriated him, this presumption that he could be swayed so easily but it filled his chest up with confidence instead. He sighed (with great effort), “yes, fine. But if we’re going it has to be the good one.”

\--

“Hey,” was Altair in the dark, quiet after the sound of his buzzing alarm had already woken them both up. “Hey,” was his arms around Malik under the warmth of the blankets (blocking out the inevitability of Altair’s departure). “I love you,” was the quiet brush of his lips against the back of Malik’s ears and the sweep of his fingers down the front of his chest. Malik wasn’t asleep but faking-it (for now) but Altair didn’t call him on it as he smiled and kissed his temple. “See you next weekend,” he said louder-than-before.

Malik listened to him get up and gather his things, thought about keeping up the charade and rolled over in the bed to squint out at the hallway light spilling in through his door. “Hey,” he shouted at Altair’s retreating back. He was still groggy enough to find the smug smile on Altair’s face kind-of-charming. “You’re tolerable,” he said.

Altair laughed at that. “Call me,” he said before he closed the bedroom door.


End file.
